


Cause for Celebration

by bookjunkiecat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Chubby Greg, M/M, Mycroft Has a Crush, Sherlock Interferes, birthday celebration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 08:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Mycroft really isn't sure why he came to Martha Hudson's birthday party. No, that's a lie. It has to do with the toothsome Lestrade, who is looking particularly fine this evening...





	Cause for Celebration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrynTWedge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynTWedge/gifts).



> Happy birthday, my dear Bryn <3

Tugging a bit at his waistcoat, Mycroft looked around the tiny club. Truly, he wasn’t entirely certain why he’d agreed to come to the birthday celebration for Mrs Hudson, whom he was positive didn’t really like him. No, that was a lie; he was  _ here _ because Sherlock had mentioned oh-so-casually that _ Inspector Lestrade _ would be there.

 

If there was an opportunity to spend time with the glorious Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes would not ignore it. Not even if it meant rubbing elbows with strangers and sitting at a sticky table in a smoky club with people who didn’t really want him there.

 

Sherlock, John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly were sitting at three miniscule round tables grouped close together, a collection of half-empty glasses in front of them. They waved and greeted him with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Mrs Hudson was wearing a plastic tiara, and a flowery dress, her lipstick flawless even though she was well into her cups. Perhaps alcohol was to blame for how boisterously she greeted him, for not only did she hop unsteadily to her feet to embrace him, but pressed a kiss to his cheek. Blushing hotly, Mycroft hurried to hand her the small, gaily-wrapped box he was carrying.

 

“For me? Oh, Mycroft, you shouldn’t have!” Even as she ripped the paper off with glee, she continued to protest that no one had needed to give her anything. Apparently Mycroft had not been the only one to ignore this, as there were one or two gift bags bulging with various items and torn paper under the table. She opened the box and gasped, one hand flying to her mouth. Looking up at him with teary eyes, she seemed speechless. “Oh…Mycroft...it’s just like the one my mother had when I was a girl! It was broken during the Blitz. I was just a tot but I remember how she cried! I always thought it was the most beautiful thing...her ‘treasure’ she called it.” She looked at him, speechless. “How did you know?”

 

Shrugging in speechless embarrassment, Mycroft wished he had given her a book voucher. Everyone was staring at him and he hurried to sit in the only empty seat. Which was right next to Lestrade. Mycroft, mindful of his manners, drew in a deep, silent breath and turned to him, “Lestrade.”

 

“Hi,” he smiled, eyes bright. Toasting Mycroft with his glass, he nodded at where an ecstatic Mrs Hudson was exclaiming over her gift with Molly. “Cheers--you made her really happy.”   
  
“It was nothing,” Mycroft muttered, embarrassed. 

 

Lestrade’s eyes were warm, “You brought her to tears, it’s a good thing. It’s alright to accept praise.”

 

Mycroft folded his hands tightly in his lap, eyes scanning the crowded jazz club. He couldn’t look directly at Lestrade for more than thirty seconds for fear of gazing at him in open-mouthed wonder. His plan to ration his glances was shot to hell when Sherlock looked around the table and called out, “Lestrade! It’s your round.” He turned commanding eyes on Mycroft, “Go help him,” he ordered bossily, eyes bright, “He’ll need a hand and you can tell him what you’re drinking.”

 

It was absolutely unfair that he was not an only child. Truly, his parents had done him a disservice in giving him such an interfering young brat of a brother. Casting a glare at his brother, Mycroft controlled his breathing and cut his eyes quickly at the other man, “Lestrade, shall we?”

 

The bar was crowded, and they were forced to stand closely together. Mycroft studied the drinks selection and concentrated on not sweating. It was surely possible to get through the evening without completely humiliating himself with his inappropriate and unwelcome feelings for Lestrade. His determination wasn’t strengthened by how delicious the man smelled, by the animal heat coming off of his powerful body. 

 

_ No, no! Don’t think of his body! His luscious, voluptuous body.... _

 

“Sorry you got stuck with me,” Lestrade said roughly, his sudden entry from awkward silence into speech jarring Mycroft from his daydreams of touching that wonderful form.

 

“I--what?” Mycroft was honestly startled, enough so that he turned to Lestrade in shock.  

 

“You’ve never been that crazy about me,” Lestrade said gruffly, staring hard at the bottles on the mirrored shelves, colour staining his cheeks, “but you can’t even bear to look at me now. I-I know I’ve put on weight but I didn’t think I was so disg--”

 

_ “Gregory,” _ Mycroft breathed, shocked out of his formality and his circumspection. “You are beautiful--more so now than before--if I cannot bear to look at you it’s because you are the very picture of my every fantasy and knowing you’ll never be mine is too unbearable a thought--” 

 

“What?” The other man looked at him in shock, face a picture of confusion, “You--Mycroft...you...fantasize about me. _ Me?” _

 

“Constantly,” Mycroft admitted, face hot, heart racing. He couldn’t tear his eyes off of Lestrade, who seemed completely stunned. “For...years.”

 

“You’re--you’re _ my  _ fantasy,” Lestrade whispered, eyes soft. He searched Mycroft’s face, as if unable to believe his eyes or ears. “I’m not...disappointing?”

 

“You’re more beautiful as you are now than you were before,” Mycroft said, daring to take Lestrade’s--Gregory’s--hand in his. They smiled shyly at one another. “I scarcely dared to look at you since I arrived, so dazzling are you.”

 

Gregory was bashful, “I’ve put on so much weight, I thought--people think--”

 

Mycroft put a soft finger to his lips, “People, Gregory, are idiots.”

 

Gregory’s eyes were bright, and his smile spread ear to ear; he gave Mycroft’s finger a tiny kiss. “Yeah they are. Not you though.”

 

“No,” Mycroft smiled, finger tingling. “I, as you no doubt know, am very smart.”

 

“Smart enough to take me out?”

 

Mycroft was beaming now, “Gregory, I would be a fool indeed if I let this opportunity slip between my fingers.”

 

The bartender snapped his fingers, “Oi, mates! What do you want?’

 

_ Him, _ Mycroft thought, dazzled, smiling at Gregory. To the bartender he said, “Champagne, my good man. Three bottles of your finest, and six glasses. This is a celebration.”


End file.
